Borrowed Pearl
by Kameka
Summary: Sophia Mason takes a small trek through her past in this story inspired by a scene in "Block Party." (season 1, episode 16)


Borrowed Pearl

By: Kameka

Disclaimer: Not mine; don't sue.

Notes: Randy Fields was mentioned in a scene between Sophia and Taylor in episode 16, "Block Party." Many thanks to Aby, who beta'd, as well as Axl, Natalie, and Valerie. Also: thank you to Cassie, who was willing to help but unable due to time and life constraints. This is for everyone who likes Sophia Mason.

Rating: G

Sophia Mason let herself into the apartment she shares with her fiancé Peter Sallas with a sigh, relishing the first steps of shedding the façade she uses in the world of insurance investigation. She quickly dropped her bag to the floor just inside the doorway, a habit she was more-or-less unaware of, but that Peter always found as a sometimes-amusing idiosyncrasy in her normally tidiness is a virtue mannerism, and made her way to the bedroom, eager to complete the ritual transformation. The heels came off first, the requisite female accessory being stowed where they belong in the bottom of the closet; the suit and shirt were next, relegated to the hamper. In their place, Sophia donned a pair of comfortable pajama bottoms and a t-shirt that was soft from multiple washings.

Fabric armor gone, Sophia went into the bathroom to begin the final part of her daily ritual: cleansing her face of the make-up she wore and allowing her skin to breathe. The first few minutes always brought a sense of freedom that she never hesitated to revel in. She was no longer Sophia Mason, S.I.U. supervisor, loaded with responsibilities and making decisions that affected strangers' lives. Instead, she was simply Sophia Mason, Chicago born and bred female, full of quite a few eccentricities rounded with an innate feminine softness and sensitivity that was normally brutally hidden.

Padding barefoot into the kitchen, she began the preparations for a simple meal of chicken stir-fry and rice, chopping the vegetables and slicing the meat so that it could simply be tossed into the pan when Peter arrived home. That chore done and the food put away, Sophia wandered through the main part of the apartment, a large room with quite a few unpacked boxes as well as furniture, into the second, smaller bedroom that was going to be used as a combination study-and-storage room. Her eyes drawn to one particular box that was waiting to be unpacked, she made her way to it and pulled it out of the cardboard city before making her way back to the main room and placing it in front of the sofa. Delving into it, she placed various sentimental treasures, including a beautiful tortoise-shell comb from her grandmother, aside until she came to a pink wooden box with a mosaic made of glass on the lid. Carefully lifting it out, she placed it on the center sofa cushion and sat cross-legged, facing it silently for a moment before opening it.

Sandalwood and musk immediately wafted upwards, the remembered scents, though faded with time, giving a family pang. She carefully lifted the first memento out of the box, a rose, dried and fragile with time; the first flower that Randy Fields had ever given her. She lifted it to her nose almost involuntarily and sniffed, closing her eyes at the memory that came to the foreground of her mind. Randy, pearl-white teeth gleaming against mahogany skin as a devil-may-care grin filled with promise was directed her way, a single pink rose held in front of him as a welcoming sentinel. His vaguely southern accented voice lilting as he told Sophia that she was the most beautiful girl around and asking her out; a simple line that could be said by anyone but made special by the honest sincerity burning in almond-shaped eyes.

Sophia pulled out another memento, a lace handkerchief that she had admired in the window of an antique shop, the cloth reminding her of her grandmother: a kind, honest woman who had just passed away. Her words of praise had been nothing more than admiring the exquisite workmanship, the infinitely delicate floral-looking design, and the sense of history that it brought to mind. Two months later, on the six-month anniversary of Randy asking Sophia out, he had presented her with the long since forgotten handkerchief. She set the folded cloth aside, placing the dried flower on top of it.

A handful of carefully folded notes came next, some written in Sophia's precise handwriting while others were scrawled in a decidedly masculine hand. These were placed on top of the coffee table without being looked at; Sophia not needing to read the long ago written words of young love intermingled with Randy's unique sense of humor. The good memories were always available if she sought them, as were the bad. She rarely did now, preferring the vague fuzzy feeling of warmth tinged with the sadness of loss to the danger of living in the past, of losing herself, that had been so apparent in her great grandmother. The stories that had so enthralled Sophia when she was hungry came as a trap if too heavily indulged. It wouldn't suit Sophia to become so lost in what-had-been and what-might-have-been that she loses sight of what-is and what-could-be.

Every once in a while, though, the siren-call of the past beckoned and Sophia had no choice but to answer. Such a call had been instituted at work earlier that day, when Sophia had talked to Taylor Woodall, Zoe Busiek's niece, about young love and marriage. She had reminisced about her beloved Randy as she attempted to gently nudge Taylor into thinking of all things and making the right decision, not only for herself but also her family.

Wonderful memories had flooded her, popping up at odd moments during the rest of the day: so many things that had made Randy who he was. There was his predilection for juicy fruit gum and the subsequent juxtaposition of the taste of sweet, childhood innocence and arousing kisses and roaming hands; his fascination with anything living and the endless trips to the zoo and aquarium, endless trivia and wide-eyed fascination interspersing jokes and animal impersonations. The rich joy of his laughter ringing out, his humor and joy in life easily heard. A lot had been forgotten over the years, unintentionally, but forgotten nonetheless. Moments written in sand, long since erased by the wind; normal, everyday conversations and time spent together that never seems as precious as when it's no longer available while some… some would remain a part of Sophia forever – Randy's claim to living long after his physical body died.

_'I know that if he were alive today, I don't think we'd be together. The woman I was when I was nineteen is not the woman I am today.'_

Those words were cold sounding, but very true. The Sophia Mason of today _isn't_ the Sophia Mason of more than a decade ago. Years of living, learning, and changing separated the two women. If Randy had lived, they may have grown together, both changing as they grew into the adults they were meant to be. Instead, Randy had died, forever remaining a life-loving young man and Sophia had grown up alone.

Sophia quickly moved aside the rest of the memory-laden pieces of history and then hesitated¸ her fingers just barely grazing the pale blue envelope that she was seeking. She finally pulled it out of its' resting place at the bottom of the box and allowed her fingers to drift across the cool surface, her mind instead allowing her to feel the caress of warm skin. She sat back on the sofa before opening it and taking the two pages out, papers crinkling audibly in the otherwise silent room. Setting aside the envelope, she scanned the letter quickly, not reading but simply absorbing the familiar scrawl of writing, just barely shaky, as if it had been written before Randy hot gotten truly sick, and waited for the stomach clenching grief that had once accompanied all thoughts of her fiancé. It never came, Sophia instead feeling an ache and sorrow instead of the mind-numbing grief and guilt over surviving that had once almost incapacitated her. The completely normal, time dulled response brought a wave of sadness over Sophia even before she began reading.

_My Dearest Jewel, _

_Do you remember when I gave you that endearment? It was after I read about the Sheikh who had discovered his pearl beyond price – the one thing in his entire kingdom that he would give anything for. I had an instant epiphany. The Sheikh has his pearl beyond price and I had my own: you._

_I can still remember the night I first used 'jewel' and your reaction to it. Confusion at first, followed by disbelief at what I was saying and then, finally, pure joy and happiness as you accepted it. _

_You always found my romantic side special, mostly because of the fact I kept it so well hidden from everyone else. No matter how long it's been since I've called you it, Sophia… you are my pearl. I would give anything for you, to make you happy._

_That's what makes what I have to say so easy at the time same it's unbearably hard._

_Even as I write this letter, as I go to doctor appointments and smile and laugh, putting on a brave face for my family, for you, I know that this is the end. I'm dying. No matter what the doctors say, I can feel it in my bones. I think I always knew that I wouldn't become a little old man surrounded by loving family, no matter what we talked about, what we planned._

_You are my pearl beyond price, Sophia, and you always have been, but you've never been truly mine. You were simply on loan, a kindness from life to a young man who wouldn't live to see much happiness. Every day I spent with you, ever time I heard your precious voice and was allowed to touch your warm skin was a gift from the heavens._

_Thank you for that. Thank you for making the desert of my life an oasis._

_I'm not telling you this so that you'll feel guilty, my jewel. I promise you that. I know that there are great things ahead of you, true happiness with the one perfect man. I wish it were I, but any happiness you find is well worth it._

_Don't build walls between yourself and life. I want you to live for the both of us. I never got the chance, so you need to take what life throws at you with both hands open and eyes wide. Become the woman you're meant to be, Sophia Mason. Nothing would make me happier._

_Eternally yours in life and in death,_

_Randy_

__

"Oh, God, Randy," Sophia choked out through the clenching muscles of her throat, the tears rolling down her cheeks making her glad that she'd taken off her make-up before taking her trip down memory lane, such an every-day feminine thought that set off another round of tears. A gentle hand on her shoulder caused her to look up into the warmly concerned eyes of her current fiancé, and Sophia automatically raised a hand to wipe the tears off her skin, feeling absurdly guilty for being caught grieving over another man. "Peter! Been home long?" She looked him up and down, taking in the ever-present scrubs that he'd obviously changed into at work.

"Long enough. Are you all right?" Peter reached out and gently traced one of the tear-tracks on her face before running his fingers through her hair, gently massaging her scalp.

"Of course I'm all right," she immediately defended herself, shaky smile turning rueful at his knowing glance. Of course she was all right, she always came home, sat down, and started crying. There was nothing unusual in that. She stood up quickly, listing slightly to one side before righting herself and shaking her head slightly. "How does chicken stir-fry sound for dinner, baby?" she asked, trying to brush past Peter to go into the kitchen. Her movement was halted by a hand on her arm, the warmth easily seeping though the thin cotton of the sleeve of her shirt, and Sophia looked back up before looking away, staring fixedly at a point on the far wall.

"Are you sure you're okay?'

Sophia briefly looked at Peter again, nodding mutely before finally forcing out "I'm fine," the statement slightly raspy sounding as it was forced through abused throat muscles. She tried to move to the kitchen again and Peter's hand dropped from her shoulder this time, allowing the forward movement to continue.

Peter watched her for a long moment, a bustling dynamo in the kitchen, frantically getting everything ready to begin cooking, simple busy-work because of Sophia's normal way of getting everything ready before hand, but the movement seemed to comfort and calm her. "I'm going to take a shower," he called, watching as Sophia looked over at him briefly and flashed a quick smile before looking away again and lifting a hand in acknowledgement. Peter shook his head and retreated into the bedroom and master bathroom, allowing the hot water to sluice over his skin and work some of the tension out of his body.

Dinner was ready by the time he came out and they sat down at the table to eat it, casual conversation steering clear of any deep topics: amusing stories from the workplace abounding. The normal, every day conversation allowed Sophia the opportunity to calm down and find her equilibrium, something vitally important to her, helped by the numerous face-washings she had given herself while Peter was in the other room. The dishes cleared and cleaned by Peter, the one-cooks/one-cleans division of kitchen chores having long since been decided on, they made their way to the living room, Sophia's box of treasures having been cleaned up while Peter had cleaned up, and sat down on the sofa, Peter pulling Sophia close against him, Sophia automatically relaxing and shifting so that she was comfortable, her head resting on his chest.

"Are you ready to talk about it?"

Sophia stiffened in Peter's arms, one hand clenching in a fist around the fabric of his shirt before she consciously relaxed it and smoothed the fabric. "Talk about what?"

"C'mon, Soph," he answered, his gentle voice tinged with exasperation, "remember who you're talking to? I know when something's up." His arms tightened around her body as it stiffened even further and she tried to tear herself away, to break the physical connection they shared. "Sophia," he tried again, the love he felt for this extraordinary woman was laced in his voice, "I love you. Part of that is talking to each other, being able to share burdens."

"Randy's not a burden," was the immediate answer, right before Sophia looked into dark eyes as best she could given the odd angle she had. Her eyes widened as she stared at him. "He's not a burden," she repeated, softer, and then, softer still: "he's a memory, nothing that's important to you, to us." She looked down, her eyes fixing on pale blue cotton, just a shade or two darker than the envelope that had completed the changes in her life so long ago.

"Why not?" he asked, hoping that the softly spoken question wasn't intrusive enough to raise her hackles again.

"Because he's the past," she continued, though it was more to her than an answer to him. "Randy's a part of the past, a part of who I was long before I met you. I'm not the same person I was then," she finished, unintentionally mimicking what she had told Taylor earlier that day.

'You can't lock your life into compartments, Sophia. You can't arbitrarily decide that what happens one year won't affect another; especially a life-changing event – like the death of a friend."

"He wasn't my friend," she answered. "Not just my friend," she amended in a whisper.

"A relative?"

A humorless laugh bubbled up in Sophia, one that lasted a scant thirty seconds before she shook her head slightly. "Almost. He was my fiancé," she admitted, aware of him stiffening against her before consciously relaxing. Gentle tears, nothing like the torrent of earlier, beginning to run down her cheeks again.

"I didn't know you were engaged before. You never mentioned it," was said quietly, any recriminations wiped out of the smooth voice.

"It's not something I like to talk about that often."

"Will you now?" Peter watched as Sophia lifted again from him to look at him, a silent question visible in her eyes. "I want you to tell me about Randy."

"Why?" was accompanied with a shake of her head, dark curls dancing with the movement.

"He was important to you," he answered simply, one hand reaching up to comb through her hair, brushing it away from her face as he moved to press a kiss against her forehead. "He was a major part of your life and I don't know anything about him. I should." He ran a finger down the side of her face before cupping it in his palm, watching as she closed her eyes and leant into the caress. "He's a part of you, Sophia, a part of your history, the past that made you into the woman you are today. I want to know everything about you, about him."

Her eyes opened again and she looked into his, searching for some clue that he was being less than sincere. Finding none, she bit her lip before nodding slightly and settling more comfortably against him. She was silent for a minute, gathering her thoughts, before nodding to herself. "When I was seventeen, a new family moved onto my block. They had a boy about my age; his name was Randall Fields, but everyone always called him Randy…"

Sophia's quiet voice continued through the night, sometimes trembling as cathartic tears were released, sometimes laced with humor as she recalled jokes. Throughout it all, as the apartment glowed softly in the dim light from the kitchen, Peter held her, quietly listening and offering his unending support.

The End


End file.
